Of Journals and Pipes
by TemporarilyAbaft
Summary: KCS' long-since-established 221B Challenge (because it's a Sherlockian classic, who can resist?). Non-slash, as usual, and anything from humor to angst. ... As usual. Enjoy!
1. Balanced

Can't make any guarantee about updates, as per my usual. *shuffles guiltily away from incomplete fics* Just thought this would be a fun, stress-free writing exercise!

From the - well, positively _classic - _KCS 221B challenge, each one will be 221 words and end in a word starting with 'B'. I brainstormed a bunch of words for my prompt pool, so I'll be working from it (unless someone cares to suggest words, which is of course fine!). That's about it, folks. Allons-y!

* * *

**Balanced**

When the rumors turned out to be true – that Sherlock Holmes had managed to locate some poor, unsuspecting martyr of a London citizen to become his unfortunate flat-mate – there were a number of bets placed amongst the younger members of Scotland Yard as to how long this newcomer, Watson, would last.

A week passed, another, and there remained a dearth of articles in the papers regarding any violent altercations disturbing the peace of Baker Street residents.

Lestrade would have been lying had he said he didn't have doubts himself in those first weeks. During his visits with Holmes, the doctor would politely and patiently limp up to his bedroom, allowing the two privacy to discuss cases. But would tolerance be enough?

A month passed and before long London got her first chance to witness Holmes and Watson together on a case. With one solved, they tackled another, and several years later, Lestrade fell to reminiscing his lacking expectations regarding the duo's friendship.

Watson's strength had returned to him in time from his experiences at war. A degree of Holmes' insatiable energy had, in turn, become tempered, less chaotic.

He watched as the pair walked away from the latest crime scene, quiet smiles adorning their lips. Years later, Lestrade concluded that he'd never again witness the growth of a friendship so balanced.


	2. Bilges (1-6)

**Bilges**

The case appeared peculiar from the very start. Holmes, who hadn't believed it would amount to much more than a fortnight of undercover work, initially denied the doctor's request for company.

The detective would exit or return to Baker Street at random, dressed as a sailor on shore leave. His rum-soaked coat would leave trails of unfavorable smells every time he strode through their door. Eventually, the case involved him enough that he would leave Baker Street for days at a time. When next Watson would see him and inquire after his well-being, Holmes would merely grunt and disappear into his room, a flurry of activity before leaving again.

It was on one of these stretches of absence that Watson determined Holmes would need to make an account of himself the next time he breezed through the door (preferably while resting and taking supper, if Watson had any say about it). His wish was answered soon enough; there was a cry of dismay from the landlady as he heard the door open and tired footfalls trod wetly upstairs. An appalling odor preceded Holmes through the entrance into the sitting room, and Watson beheld in horror the detective drenched, covered in viscous, slimy dirt, absolutely _reeking_ to high heaven.

Smiling wearily, Holmes explained, "One can hardly stay pristine crawling through ships' bilges."


	3. Bravo (2-6)

_As suggested by Riandra! ;) Although perhaps not what you were expecting..._

_(continued from last)_

**Bravo **

Mrs. Hudson shooed the rancid smelling detective towards a hastily drawn bath, an activity from which Holmes reappeared, disparately, looking all the more haggard and irritated. The previous weeks' frustrations had been steadily drawing together to pucker Holmes' brow into a scowl; the final straw to any lingering good humor had been this evenings' attempt to seize new evidence.

Draping a rug about his shoulders, Holmes huddled miserably into his armchair to think.

Watson's medical instincts implacably roused, he grabbed up a plate of food (graciously and wisely left by Mrs. Hudson) and sat it upon Holmes' lap. Holmes, with a piqued glare, immediately set the dish upon the floor beside his chair. "I haven't the patience for your pedestrian ministrations this evening, _doctor,_" he declared shortly.

Watson merely stared, taken momentarily aback by the unwarranted asperity. The tension in the room, which had been insidiously growing in the hours Watson had sat and worried the past week, quite suddenly fractured into outright thunder.

Five seconds' silence reigned judgment upon the two men. Then, Watson turned stiffly upon his heel. With the ghost of precise military execution, he stalked up the stairs to his room. The door slammed above and Holmes let his head drop into his hand with a deprecating sigh. To himself, he muttered, "Oh, Holmes… Well _done._ _Bravo._"


	4. Bandages (3-6)

_(continued from last) (the last of this story arc?)_

**Bandages**

It's decidedly inconvenient, Holmes concluded.

While the voyage through several ships' bilge waters had been extraordinarily unpleasant and difficult, the effort had not been entirely in vain. The passenger steamship Friesland's bilge pump had turned out to be tremendously dented; if there _was_ a calculated smuggling scheme festering at the London docks as Mycroft had suspected, and neither rumor nor clue could yield evidence as to smuggled goods _above_ decks, there remained only the bottom decks, however improbable, as the storage space for goods.

Also in his possession was a collection of soil samples from the various bilges. What Holmes _needed_ to be doing right now was experimenting and reevaluating the evidence at hand.

What Holmes actually _was_ doing was succumbing to the guilty nagging sensation in his chest whose consciousness appeared to be uniquely focused upon the mystery of "how do I regain Watson's favor?"

_Absolutely _inconvenient.

He'd let his emotions tinge his remark earlier that evening, and he was losing the battle against them again as they demanded a resolution to the tension. He recognized he would be unable to continue the case until he'd made _some _attempt at reconciliation. And so, with a petulant sigh, Holmes rose from his armchair. He hoped he could resolve the issue with a simple "I'm sorry," the most reliable of verbal bandages.


	5. Before (4-6)

_Just kidding... Guest wanted to see Holmes really work at an apology this time._

_(continued from last)_

**Before**

Holmes delivered three soft knocks to his flatmate's door. "Watson?"

A sigh from inside. "Yes, Holmes."

There was no indication that the doctor was going to come and open the door. Instead, Holmes shifted his weight and asked the obvious question. "May… I come in?"

A pause. Holmes listened intently as there emerged another sigh, a slow series of steps to the door, and the rattle of a hand on the knob. He took a step back and Watson opened the door – enough that he may have a brief conversation but, ultimately, bar entry into the room. It was obvious by the doctor's body language that he did not feel equal to the task of talking for very long.

Before the detective could begin his speech, Watson held up a hand. "Holmes, I know you've come to apologize. Or, at least your equivalent thereof." He shook his head dismissively. "There's no need. I remember how you get on cases. Just… Forget about it. Good night, Holmes."

"I - Watson? – wait a moment!" Watson gently but firmly pushed the door closed against Holmes' stunned protest_. _For several moments, Holmes was left standing awkwardly upon the landing before the doctor's closed door.

_How I get on cases? Forget about it? _More than simply Holmes' conscience was squirming now.

This had never happened before.


	6. Back (5-6)

_Almost done, I think!_

_(continued from last)_

**Back**

Watson returned to the chair at his desk intending to continue writing. It was when he noted that there were no receding steps that he turned in his chair to regard the door.

He could not see the detective, of course, but he imagined Holmes was still staring, eyes wide with the faintly wounded astonishment that had shown through when Watson had closed the door.

Huh. Holmes guilty about upset feelings. Had that ever happened before?

Holmes had only returned from "the grave" a couple of months ago. While the two were overjoyed to share each other's company again, Watson had to admit that both of them had changed. Where he used to grouse and nag Holmes about his health, Watson now concluded that he would not aggravate himself over an unwilling patient.

Luckily for Holmes (and his future health), the detective's unpliable nature had softened a degree; at least in regards to the man he'd grown to dearly respect.

Watson was astonished when Holmes began to speak through the closed door.

"Watson, you imply that it is no concern, but I assure you; your well-being is _absolutely _a concern and I had no intention of denouncing you so flippantly earlier. I am grateful – very grateful – for your consideration in my well-being."

And with that earnest declaration, Holmes' steps turned back.


	7. Baffled (6-6)

_Aha! Last one for real this time! Ahh, our lovely, awkward boys when it comes to emotions. I just wish this one felt more solid..._

_(continued from last)_

**Baffled**

Hours later, when both men _should_ have been asleep, Watson was startled from his thoughts by another knock upon the door.

This time, however, it was Mrs. Hudson. The landlady's hair was braided for bed, and yet here she stood with a kindly smile on her lips. "There's tea in the sitting room for you and Mr. Holmes. I thought it might be appreciated. I'll be turning in, now."

The dear woman was sometimes as perceptive as Holmes. Watson smiled in return. "Of course, sleep well. And thank you, Mrs. Hudson."

He went downstairs and entered the sitting room slowly. The food he had left for Holmes had, he was pleased to note, been eaten. The gas lamps were dim, but lit enough to work by and – sure enough – there sat Holmes in his dressing gown at the chemical table.

Holmes did not look up until the doctor sat a prepared cup of tea by his elbow.

"So," Watson began, taking a seat opposite, "tell me Holmes. Just what _is_ it that you've been working on these last couple of weeks?"

The detective observed in Watson's countenance an ameliorated friendliness; a small smile toyed across his face in relief.

"Certainly, my dear Watson. Actually, I believe it will help to have your ear; I must admit that I've been quite baffled…"


	8. Boring

_Two days ago I learned how to play Rummy (or at least a form of it). It's GREAT~_

**Boring **

"Whose idea was this?" Lestrade demanded plaintively.

Watson rubbed a hand across his face. "I'm sorry. I never expected –"

There were three neat _fwips_ of cards hitting the table and a frustrated hiss from Gregson.

"Watson," Holmes said serenely, "I believe it is your turn."

Watson opened his eyes and dolefully observed the cards on the table. It had been his idea to play Rummy while the four men awaited a series of reports from the Yard. Holmes had initially scoffed at the idea, but the Inspectors (hopeful to witness Holmes blundering while learning something new) had taunted his reticence enough that Holmes' ego demanded he accept the challenge.

For three rounds, Holmes played abysmally. Lestrade's smug grin, however, had quickly melted away by the fifth round when Holmes managed to go out in his second turn and stick Lestrade with seven negative cards.

Watson laid down a discard and Holmes tutted. "What are you doing? Did you not observe that Gregson has a hand of diamonds and threes?"

Gregson froze in the act of taking the discarded deck. "How in the _world_ did you know _that?_" he demanded, unnerved.

Lestrade groaned aloud, laying his head upon the table. Watson looked at the complacent, smirking detective and raised an eyebrow; slyly, he murmured, "And _you_ thought this would be boring."


	9. Blade (1-9)

_look, I can't help it, I'm a sucker for angst, I'M SORRY_

**Blade**

His back and head slammed hard into the building and spots flashed across Watson's vision. Dazedly, he began to slide down the brick wall. Or at least he _would_ have done had the brute not seized his lapels and pushed him upright. The sneering face with its crooked teeth spat an oath. The close, rancid breath turned Watson's stomach.

The doctor's mind was slow to recover; distantly, he saw a fist drawing back to strike and he could do naught but squeeze tight his eyes and prepare for the jarring blow.

It did not fall; there was a snarling grunt, a confused gasp – and quite suddenly, Watson was falling again. Sitting where he'd collapsed, he opened his eyes to see a livid Holmes throwing the mugger against the opposite wall of the alley. The detective's lips were unconsciously drawn into a contemptuous sneer and his eyes were dark and intent on the startled attacker.

Holmes stalked forward, shoulders set furiously; in an instant, the mugger had grasped for the inside of his boot and swung something in a wide arc. Holmes flinched backwards and grabbed the man's arm with his right, bringing it downwards with a terrible _pop_ that was instantaneously echoed by a shriek. Watson watched the knife fall – and his heart stuttered to see dark blood covering the blade.


	10. Bail (2-9)

_(continued from last [for KnightFury!][and less of a cliffhanger now, mrspencil, as I go to post RIGHT when you review, haha. :D])_

**Bail**

Despite his injury (Watson started to his feet; just how bad was it?), Holmes grabbed the yowling man by his jacket and hauled him against a wall in the same manner the doctor had been only moments ago. "Watson," Holmes barked over the assailant's pitiful cries. "Are you all right, my dear fellow?"

"Of course – Holmes –"

"Just _what precisely,_" Holmes interrupted, shaking his prey to emphasize his words, "were you thinking, attacking the good doctor here?"

"_Oh damn_-! What did –_my shoulder-_!"

"Unless I'm terribly mistaken, I've given you an inferior dislocation," Holmes diagnosed coolly. "_Answer my question_."

When the man did little more than whimper, Holmes' nose wrinkled into a sneer and he freed a hand to grab the man's wounded shoulder. The scream made Watson cringe, an awful taste rising in his mouth at this uncharacteristic show of violence from his friend. "Holmes, enough."

"Tell me," Holmes snarled loudly. "Have you been hired to persuade me against continuing a case?"

"Holmes-"

"Do you hold a grudge? Or were you simply _fool enough_," he shook the man painfully again, his voice rising, "to mug this gentleman in particular?"

"_Holmes!_"

The doctor grabbed his friend by the shoulder and hauled him backwards. Had he not done so, Watson was certain he would have concluded the evening by paying Holmes' bail.


	11. Bloke (3-9)

_(continued from last)_

**Bloke**

"_Enough!_"

Holmes stumbled backward and swiveled angrily to face the doctor. Watson switched his grip to hold the detective's arms and shook him once with an absent remonstrance. Slowly, the fury filtered from Holmes' paling face.

Instead, the detective's lips stiffened into a line and he assumed an expression of control. Watson did not miss the grimace, however, as the detective turned to glare at the hapless attacker – since crumpled to the ground.

"Holmes, hand me your police whistle."

The detective complied, reaching gingerly for an inside pocket and delivering the item. Watson made the call with his whistle, noting that Holmes' posture was shrinking steadily more protectively about his middle. There was a single answering call from a patrolling constable.

Holmes was watching the simpering London rough with a look of disdain. It was obvious the man was helpless from his injury, so the doctor turned his attentions upon Holmes.

"Let me see," Watson muttered, drawing the detective's coat away. There was a line of dripping darkness slashed across his waistcoat. Footsteps at the front of the alleyway heralded the approaching constable, however, and Holmes waved Watson's hands away. "Later," he ordered dismissively.

Watson subsided unhappily for sake of Holmes' pride. The detective's posture was ram-rod straight when there came the startled demand of, "_Cor_, what 'appened to _this_ bloke?!"


	12. Bleak (4-9)

_Guess whooooo~_

_(continued from last)_

**Bleak**

It was simple to clear things with the constable, if tedious: What had happened? Watson was attacked. Then why was _Holmes_ injured? Nonsense, it's a trifling scratch. Are any of you _drunk_? Do stop prevaricating and escort "the sniveling blackguard" to a jail cell.

"_Fine_," the constable conceded. "One'a the lads will stop by your flat if'n we need yuh. … You're sure you're alright, Mr. Holmes?"

"Absolutely."

Watson observed the steady graying of Holmes' features which seemed to belie this assertion.

They watched the constable haul the rough out of the alleyway. Previously silent (save groans) he appeared to finally drum up the courage to speak – after all, what more damage could Holmes do under the watchful gaze of the law?

"If you don't know what I am, you'll know soon enough!" he cried, receiving an angry "hush, you," from the officer. Stumbling under the constable's grip, the criminal strained to face Holmes as much as possible with gleeful threats slurring. "He'll get to you in the end. And God save you when he does!"

Watson shivered. The officer, roundly scolding the criminal with a cuff about the head, managed to make it to the street.

When Watson turned to face Holmes, he fought the urge to shiver again.

What could have caused him to appear so shaken and bleak?


	13. Blanket (5-9)

_(continued from last)_

**Blanket**

"Holmes, what on earth was– _Steady on, old chap_…!"

With a low gasp, Holmes curled one arm around his wound and spread the other out bracingly. Watson took it and guided the detective towards a crate, where Holmes obediently sat with closed eyes.

"I should have seen to this sooner," Watson muttered, once more drawing Holmes' coat away and carefully prying fabric from wound.

"There was no time, Watson," the detective dismissed tiredly, "do not berate yourself."

"It's still bleeding, Holmes; this will require some attention."

At Holmes' nod, Watson wrapped an arm around his friend's back and helped him to stand. The color washed rather impressively from Holmes' face; but he remained upright, and the two made their way to the street and into a cab.

The doctor was forced to aid the stumbling detective again as they climbed the stairs to the sitting room. At an order, Mrs. Hudson retrieved water and linen, and Watson focused on stitching Holmes' chest, propped stiffly upon the settee. Once he was no longer dribbling blood down his torso, Holmes blearily accepted a brandy and the aid of sitting up against pillows.

Care and the opportunity to rest seemed to fortify Holmes somewhat, so Watson felt less compunction about asking questions. He gave a preparatory sigh and settled his patient with a blanket.


	14. Beginning (6-9)

_Life has been doing the life. Have an update!_

_(continued from last)_

**Beginning **

Holmes was studiously ignoring Watson's gaze. _I suppose I shall have to start the conversation_, Watson concluded wryly.

"I am as yet unenlightened to the name belonging to that criminal's ravings." Holmes' blinking ceased for a moment – which, for the detective, was very nearly the equivalent of a wince. Still he offered nothing in reply.

The doctor sighed and settled back into his chair. Dryly, he listed the facts known to him. "You were desperate to understand the motive of my attacker. Perhaps his attack is coincidental with a case you're working at present? Your… _fervor_ to obtain information coupled with the otherwise vague threats of a mugger seems to indicate a perceived threat."

There was pointed silence save for the crackling of fire. Watson sat patiently, determined to force Holmes' voice into the discussion. He stared at his friend and, eventually, Holmes obliged by lifting his frown from its contemplation of the fire. There was a sense of resignation in his expression.

"I would hesitate to involve you in this matter," Holmes began finally, "but for the fact that it seems to have forced your inclusion by tonight's events."

Watson gave a wry chuckle, and Holmes risked a tired smile. In a moment it was gone again, however, and he nodded distractedly. "Very well. We should start at the beginning."


	15. Beyond (7-9)

_(continued from last)_

**Beyond**

"Watson, if you would be so kind as to retrieve the black-bound book on the third shelf, two from the right?"

The doctor obliged. Many of the books on the shelf had not been touched in some time, but there was a trail of disturbed dust leading back from this one's spine – Holmes had seen fit to consult the book several times recently. He read aloud the cover with a puzzled frown.

"_The Dynamics of an Asteroid_._" _

"And you thought I had no interest in astronomy."

Watson lifted an eyebrow at the smirking detective. "Nevermind, old fellow. To be perfectly honest, it still concerns me very little."

"Then why has this book caught your interest?"

Holmes shifted upon the settee with a faint grimace. "Well, besides the fact that it _is_ an incredible mathematical treatise written by a refreshingly logical and precise mind, it bears the name of a… gentleman…. With whom I've recently taken an interest."

Watson noted Holmes' evasiveness and consulted the book cover again. "A… Professor James Moriarty?"

Holmes nodded, his gaze faltering to the floor. "That marks only the second time that I have ever heard the Professor's name spoken aloud."

After a moment's silence, Holmes began again. "For a year now, I have sensed a malevolent force working underneath the society of London; perhaps even beyond."


	16. Baleful (8-9)

_I should mention that I'm playing off of the idea that Watson had said he didn't know the name Moriarty in _Final Problem_ as a literary technique: so that he could take the time to have Holmes build up a full character profile for the sake of the reader. That way the conflicting information in _Valley of Fear _makes more sense. As such this is at least a year or so before either case. Moriarty's just getting his spook on so that Holmes keeps his distance._

_(continued from last)_

**Baleful**

"While I've had some inkling of its nature, it has remained amorphous; just dark enough that it is impossible to define. There is much work to be done and I am quite convinced I have merely cleaned a window, so to speak, that I might witness its workings more clearly. I am many steps removed from approaching the door and combating it directly."

Holmes took a deep breath, clearly becoming tired. But, before Watson's concern could override his desire to know more, the detective continued.

"You understand, Watson, I've had the impression that there is a criminal syndicate under the organization of an incredible individual. Only very recently have I heard his name dropped - just two nights ago, in fact."

"What happened?"

"There was a thief that I consulted in the case we just finished. Disguised, I was able to 'befriend' him, and he slipped some information (the facts of which gave us our successful arrests yesterday, Watson). I believe he honestly trusted me to be a compatriot, for he referenced Moriarty nonchalantly."

"Incredible, Holmes."

"_Alarming_, Watson."

"What do you mean?"

"He was found dead this afternoon."

Watson's mouth went dry and he grew perfectly still. Holmes watched his friend's reaction and nodded solemnly. "Do you understand, now, why I feared a simple mugging to be something far more baleful?"


	17. Backing (9-9)

_Last of this set! Yay! So much exposition to clear up... _

_(continued from last [final])_

**Backing**

There reigned thoughtful silence as Watson considered Holmes' words and the evening's events. "Did you suppose, then," he asked slowly, "that the mugger was sent to dissuade your researches into that… criminal organization?"

Holmes' eyebrows lifted noncommittally. "Suppose? Of course not. But the coincidence of events certainly set my suspicions on edge." He caught the dubious look upon Watson's face and colored, recognizing the unspoken observation. "My…" He paused, harrumphing uncomfortably. "My concern for your well-being _may_ have led me to… _act_… a _slight_ degree more assertively than usual."

"Mm."

Holmes sighed noisily, an expression of distaste turning his lips. "I'm sure I won't make the same mistake again." Weariness appeared to be pulling at Holmes' attention (or else it was a welcome distraction from Watson wordlessly pointing out his lapse in rational judgment), so Watson nodded and stood.

"You should rest, Holmes. And at least now I can help you with Moriar—"

"_No_."

Surprised, Watson faced Holmes. The detective shook his head with finality. "No, my dear Watson. I shall work alone at present; remain on the periphery. My opponent has declared his desire for a game of subtlety."

Naturally, Watson respected Holmes' request. And while the name 'Moriarty' resurfaced upon infrequent occasions the following year, it would not be until spring that Holmes would finally request Watson's backing.


	18. Breath - And a note!

**Breath**

There were few things quite as unnerving to John Watson as Holmes, in the midst of a dark mood, disappearing without word.

For the better part of a month, Holmes had fallen prey to a brooding despondency. Watson presumed it was set off by some failure in a case. Whatever Holmes' musings were, Watson knew not; only that his eyes had remained dull since his return from the unreported affair at the Pritchard estate, and that his efforts of drawing Holmes out of his depression remained unsuccessful. The detective maintained reticence, his occasional responses resigned to nothing better than passionless observations.

Only upon one occasion – earlier the same afternoon of Holmes' disappearance – had he offered a statement demonstrating any presence of thought. Emerging from his dark room, Holmes had stared hollowly into the fire.

"_Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit…_"

"… _And lost without deserving_," Watson finished quietly, eyeing Holmes' expression warily. "Holmes?"

The detective continued to stare, apparently lost again in thought. He was pale and obviously weary, and Watson felt a growing sense of urgent concern. "Holmes, old fellow, are you alright?"

At last, Holmes emerged from the disturbed waters of his mind; his expression cleared (although, a mournful despondency lurked about his eyes) and he turned to Watson, seizing a sudden breath -

- IMPORTANT -

What happens next! Holmes seizing a breath? Does he sneeze? Does he yell? Does Watson punch him in the face?

I've decided to move the arc I was working on to a story of its own entitled _Crime in Comprehension_. For those who have been with me, the existing story has been minutely expanded and will continue without the 221B formatting limitation. Thank you for your advice!

Now, advertising over, I suppose we can continue our (ir)regularly scheduled 221B drabbles. Thanks again!


End file.
